


"I'll save you."

by fw_feathers (mia826)



Series: Sterek drabbles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Nogitsune, because derek deserves nice things, ish, post s3a, warning for pain and tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia826/pseuds/fw_feathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles, why did you..."</p>
<p>"Sorry, Derek, but Stiles can't talk right now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I'll save you."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gifset here ([x](http://fleeting-white-feathers.tumblr.com/post/113052901060/serialwolf15-now-im-crying-freaking-hell-ive)) check it out because this won't make much sense without the actual photos and it's 100000% better with them. (Hint: look at the last gif at the words 'stupid and pathetic'. It's perfect, I swear.)
> 
> Some context: Stiles and Derek get together weeks after S3a but it's been a long time coming, really. Derek helps Stiles with his nightmares and Stiles helps Derek with his loneliness and trust issues, and everyone's happy, _really_ , until Noggy decides to crash the party.
> 
> This is my first work for the fandom (and first work for AO3) so reviews would be highly appreciated! Thanks and enjoy!

Blood. It’s blood. He’s kneeling, kneeling in a pool of blood, and it _hurts,_ but when he puts his shaking hands over the wound in his abdomen it’s not there, that’s not where it hurts. He looks up, his mind still trying to put the pieces together, his wolf whining and whimpering in confusion, and, _oh._

His heart throbs, once, twice.

Oh.

That’s where it hurts.

“Stiles?” It’s like all the air in his lungs go out with that one word. The hollow feeling spreading throughout his body is worse than the burning of the poison in his veins. Derek tries to breathe, tries to suck in air to fill up the gaping darkness clawing through him, but- it _hurts._

He thought-

After Kate-

He should’ve-

“Stiles, why did you…” The words come out without thinking, despair slipping out of him in one word, one breath: _why._ He staggers, falls back, his weight resting on his ankles. He doesn’t know this brand of wolfsbane- he can feel the pain and numbness spreading from his gut, the breathlessness that isn’t entirely panic, but he can’t. Even. Care.

Stiles stands over him, his eyes cold and hollow, uncaring, unfeeling. He tilts his head in a way that is so _Stiles_ , studying him with the same clinical intensity the boy reserves for mapping out possibilities to solve the next problem they face. He’s still, and silent, no fidgeting hands, no tapping feet, no endlessly babbling mouth that only shuts up when he kisses him. It’s wrong, _feels_ wrong, so, so wrong, but there’s a part of him that says _it’s right_ , because. Because.

Because he’d finally trusted, finally let go, all these months after Kate’s death, all these weeks after Jennifer. He’d finally let go to embrace a comrade, a friend, a _mate_. Embrace _Stiles_.

A small part of him says that that darkness in Stiles’ eyes is right, because he’d finally let his walls down and now he’s paying for it. Again. And Derek doesn’t know what hurts more – the fact that his trust in Stiles, his _mate_ , is as fragile as that, or that Derek is right and he let himself be lied to, manipulated, again.

Stiles holds up the shadow-black blade in his hand, letting the moonlight glint off the steel. “Sorry Derek,” he says. “But Stiles can’t talk right now.”

And it’s stupid, and pathetic, but Derek _feels_ it, feels the sudden spark of hope lighting up in the darkness filling up his chest. _Stiles can’t talk right now,_ which means that this _thing_ that stabbed him isn’t Stiles, which means that Stiles hasn’t betrayed him, which means… it’s still Stiles. The Stiles he knows is still Stiles, and there are no lies, no manipulations, just him and the thing that isn’t. Stiles.

“It’s too bad, really.” It walks up to him, droplets of blood from the knife dripping to the ground with every step. “I would have loved to play with you more, see how much pain I could wring out from the both of you while I did it. Listen to both of you scream.” It stops, in front of his drooping body, trembling from the effort of staying upright. It flips the knife and raises its hand, ready to stab. “Unfortunately, I’ve got other plans to attend to.”

Derek’s hand darts out, faster than a blink, and grabs it by the wrist in a grip that makes its bones creak. He twists, until it lets go. The knife falls to the ground with a clatter of steel. He looks into Stiles’ eyes, wide and bruised and furious, and looks straight into the amber brown that’s as familiar as his own now.

“Don’t worry,” he tells him, ignoring the snarls and curses of the thing in front of him. “I’ll save you.”

The teary smile he receives in reply is all Stiles.

 


End file.
